


The Long and Winding Road

by MediumSizedEvil



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, Child Labor, Corruption, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Police Brutality, Racism, Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-10-20
Packaged: 2020-09-27 06:02:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20402878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MediumSizedEvil/pseuds/MediumSizedEvil
Summary: “When I was seven my dad left us and my mom really struggled. Then her uncle offered her a better job in Tel Aviv, and my grandmother had always wanted to make aliyah, so we all went,” Jake explained.“Make what?”“Aliyah, that's going home, to Israel.”After completing his military service in the IDF Jake goes on a backpacking trip to South America, where he meets an Art History student from New York.Together they brave the most dangerous road in the world. And that's just the beginning of the journey of a lifetime.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—  
Because I was not a socialist.
> 
> Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—  
Because I was not a trade unionist.
> 
> Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—  
Because I was not a Jew.
> 
> Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.  
  
\- Martin Niemöller, 1946

_A long, long time ago, in the year 2003..._

Jake hurried along the busy streets of La Paz, Bolivia. He was already late, and now he was in danger of getting lost as well. Several streets downtown had been blocked by a big demonstration and he'd had to take a confusing detour. He grabbed his well-thumbed copy of 'South America on a Shoestring' and opened it on the page bookmarked with a crumpled napkin. He studied the city map again and looked around in vain for a street sign. They should really invent some kind of portable map, he thought, that shows you exactly where you are with a little arrow or something. He kept running in the same direction, Lonely Planet in hand, and just hoped he was going the right way. Finally he reached a large square and he could confirm the name on the map. He was almost there.

He passed the Witches' Market and finally arrived at the office of the mountain bike tour company. Standing in front were two minibuses with bikes on the roof, and a man with a clipboard was waiting for him. “Peralta?” he asked. He nodded, out of breath. It was strange to hear his father's last name instead of his own, but he had decided to travel on his American passport and it was better to be consistent. “Get in mate,” clipboard man said, pointing to the last spot in the minibus. After Jake took a seat he closed the door and jumped into the front seat of the other vehicle, and they were off.

“Hi, I'm Amy.”

He looked to the side. There was a girl with dark hair sitting next to him, about his age he guessed. He shook her offered hand. “I'm Jake. Nice to meet you.”

“You too. So where are you from?”

“Tel Aviv.”

She looked surprised. “Oh, I thought you sounded American!”

“Yeah, I was born in New York.”

“I'm from New York too! I'm studying Art History at NYU.”

“Cool cool cool,” he said, although it was the least cool thing he could imagine.

“So what do you do, are you a student as well?” she asked.

“No, I just got out of the army, three years of military service.”

“Ah okay,” she said awkwardly. 

He guessed she had some opinions on the IDF and Middle Eastern politics that she was too polite to share. He didn't mind, especially not after experiencing the exact opposite from a group of weirdly obsessive evangelical Christians on a mission trip with some kind of Zionist fetish. He shivered at the recollection. “So are you excited?” he asked her. “The world's most dangerous road, woohoo!”

“Yeah I guess it will be pretty thrilling,” she said despondently.

“You don't sound too stoked. Are you sure you want to go?”

“Well to be honest I'm only doing it cause all my older brothers did it, so I kinda have to?” she explained. “They'd make fun of me if I didn't go.”

“Well I'm sure it's going to be awesome!” he reassured her.

They soon left the sprawling city of La Paz behind and started climbing a busy road up a hill. Jake and Amy continued chatting until the driver shouted something in Spanish to the minibus passengers. Amy nodded and zipped up her coat.

“What did he say?” Jake asked.

“Oh just that we're almost at the pass, to get ready.”

“Okay thanks.”

“So you don't speak any Spanish?” she asked, amazed. “That's gotta be tough on your own.”

He sighed. “Yeah, well, that wasn't really the plan. I was supposed to be traveling with my friend Ben who speaks it well enough, but he bailed on me.”

“Oh no! What happened?”

“Well we started in Lima, and then we did the Inca Trail to Machu Picchu together and that was cool. Then he meets this girl from Liverpool and they hit it off, and she wanted to go to the Galapagos Islands so he booked a ticket from La Paz to Quito to go with her. He said I could come too, but yeah no thanks.”

“Wow, that's terrible. So what are you going to do now?”

“I don't know. I'm flying back home from Buenos Aires, so I should get there some way. I guess I could always fly there directly from La Paz, maybe try to move the date forward.”

“Well that would be a shame. You've come all this way.”

“So where are you heading?” he asked.

“Chile. This is going to sound a bit weird, but I'm going to Santiago because that's my last name. My eldest brother started this kind of family tradition.”

“Noice. Meltzer, by the way. I'm Jacob Meltzer. Not a place you can visit, as far as I know. But it is a time-honored IDF tradition to go backpacking after you finish your service and have as much fun as you possibly can.”

The minibus stopped at a parking lot at the top of a high pass surrounded by snowy peaks and they all got out: Jake, Amy, a bunch of loud Brazilians and two silent Finns. It was very cold and windy, and the high altitude took their breath away. The other minibus had also arrived and out came a group of tiny Asians, an absurdly tall blond family of four, and clipboard man.

“Hi everyone, my name is Devlin,” he introduced himself. “I'm from Queensland, Straya. You can call me Dev, or Devvers. Or 'Hey you mate' if you're a bit thick. We just gonna get our bikes and helmets sorted, arright?”

Jake and Amy picked out a helmet and a mountain bike, and got the height adjusted. Then they sat down on a large rock and shared a crumpled candy bar that Jake had found in his pocket from a while ago, but it was still good. 

Across the parking lot the blond woman shouted, “Judith, ye helm sit loss,” or something like that.

“What on earth is that language?” Amy wondered. They looked over at the family of four. The woman started fussing with the tall blond girl's helmet.

“Let's go find out,” Jake suggested.

“I'm Harm Akkermans, this is my wife Willie, my son Dennis and my daughter Judith. We're from The Netherlands.”

Amy nodded. “Ah right, Holland.”

“No, we're not from Holland, we're from The Netherlands,” he gleefully corrected her. “We live in Zeeland, which is in The Netherlands but not in Holland. Zeeland. Not New Zealand, the old Zeeland. And you?”

“I'm from New York,” Amy said.

“Ah, do you live in Flushing?” he asked enthusiastically.

“No, I-”

“Well we're from Flushing,” he interrupted her. “The real Flushing. Vlissingen. VLI-SING-U,” he emphasized. “That's what Flushing is named after.”

“Oh right, I-”

“We Dutch people used to sail all around the seas,” he continued. “And make colonies to trade with everyone. Spices, tea, coffee, slaves. That's why we speak our languages so good. Not like you Americans, huh?”

“Actually I'm fluent in Spanish and I studied French,” Amy said.

“And I also speak Hebrew and Yiddish,” Jake added.

Harm nodded. “Oh you're Jewish? You should come to Amsterdam and visit the Anne Frank House. It's very famous.”

Jake frowned. “Yeah, maybe.” Then he turned to Amy. “We should go eh...check our bikes.”

She nodded. “Yes, we should...fix the thing.”

As they walked back to their mountain bikes she was afraid to look at him. “Those people are terrible,” she whispered, cringing with second-hand embarrassment.

He turned to her, biting his lip. “I know,” he said, and started laughing. Amy joined in and soon they just couldn't stop anymore. “And that guy's name is 'Harm'?” Amy wheezed, “That is so dumb. And did he really say his wife is called 'Willy'?”

Jake was leaning over the handlebar of his bike, wiping tears from his eyes. “And why would you name your daughter Judith if you're not Jewish?”

“What?” Amy said.

“It's false advertising.” They started laughing again. Just then the subject of their mirth approached.

“Hi,” she said shyly, “I'm sorry about my father. He's an idiot. He just says whatever comes up in his head.”

“It's okay,” Jake said. “It's not like us Americans didn't do our bit in the slave trade.” Amy and Jake started laughing again, much to Judith's bafflement.

“There's only two things I hate,” Jake hiccuped as she walked back to her family. “People who are intolerant of other people's cultures, and the Dutch!”

Amy frowned. “What? That doesn't make any sense.”

“Don't tell me you haven't seen the new Austin Powers movie yet?” Jake exclaimed. “It came out, like, last year! Have you been living under a rock?”

“It's just...not my thing.”

“I thought you'd know how to appreciate a work of art. It's the Mona Lisa of movies! Yeah, baby.”

“Arright everyone, listen up!” Devvers called them to attention. He spread his arms in a dramatic gesture. “Welcome to the most dangerous road in the world...”


	2. Chapter 2

The first section of the road after the pass was a wide stretch of asphalt, quite the opposite of dangerous except for the occasional reckless driver. “Just gonna check if yous can all stay on a bike and know how to brake,” Dev had explained. “The fun starts later mate.”

A short while after their departure he started cycling next to Jake and Amy. “Oh man, those Finns,” he complained, “Always talking me bloody ears off.” He shook his head. “But I love me some Americans,” he grinned at them. “Excellent tippers.” He nodded to the Akkermans family in front of them. “And then there's Dutch people. Man but they love to brag about how good they are at cycling. So I always gives 'em the opportunity.”

“And which nationality is your favorite?” Amy asked. “Excluding tips.”

“Oh the Irish no doubt. They's all sound cunts. And don't take this the wrong way, alone by themselves they're great geezers, but large groups of Israelis are the worst.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, you're right. All they do is complain.”

Amy frowned. “Are you complaining about them complaining?”

He turned to her. “Are you saying I shouldn't? Then I'll complain you won't let me complain about them complaining.”

Devvers looked confused. “Arright yous have a good trip then.” He changed gears and quickly caught up with the Akkermans family. 

Amy shook her head. “I'm so sorry about that guy.”

“Huh, why?”

“Well, he obviously didn't know you were from Israel.”

“So? He's not wrong, you know. What, you don't think unleashing a bunch of horny, repressed fighting machines on the world is going to cause some problems?”

Amy looked at him questioningly. “Is that what you are, a 'horny repressed fighting machine'?”

“No, I'm a great geezer, you heard him.” Jake sighed and shook his head. “Imagine shagging a girl from Liverpool. I'm not that desperate.”

“Yes, it's very normal,” they heard Harm say loudly to Devvers. “We cycle every day you know. On the dikes, against the wind.”

A little later they all stopped and waited at the end of the asphalt road. It continued around the corner as a narrow dirt track hugging a steep mountainside, slowly winding its way down like a thin snake in lush green.

“So this here is the Yungas Road,” Dev said, “El Camino de la Muerte, or the World's Most Dangerous Road. And that is no exaggeration mate. More people die on this road every year than anywhere else in the world. And now you can see why. There is no shoulder. There is no guardrail. Just a 900 meter vertical drop. If you fall over the edge, you're dead. So don't do that.”

Jake and Amy shared a look.

“About 26 vehicles go over the edge every year. That's one every two weeks. The last one was four days ago. Now most accidents here happen with trucks and buses, because they're big and this road is only three meters wide in places. Also the ground can get soggy in wet weather, and the edges are very unstable and prone to collapse under enough pressure. But it's been pretty dry recently, and yous don't weigh much.”

There was some nervous laughter.

“Still, enough mountain bikers have died on this road as well. Now I want yous to listen carefully.” Dev went over the special rules of the road with regards to right of way, overtaking, etc. in great detail. “So from here it's 35 kilometers downhill to Coroico, a two kilometer descent. I'll be right behind you, and you can get back in the minibus any time you want. Enjoy the ride!” he concluded.

After a last check of their brakes Jake and Amy set off together on their bikes. Despite being narrow and well, incredibly dangerous the road was full of traffic in both directions; trucks, buses, minibuses, old rusty cars, shiny four-wheel drives, as well as plenty of tourists on mountain bikes looking for cheap thrills. 

Trucks full of produce destined for the markets of La Paz were driving up from Coroico. They balanced precariously close to the edge when passing another bus or truck in a narrow section of the road. Where the track was too narrow they had to reverse downhill first, the driver leaning out of his window to check the deadly margins of error on the wheels.

“I can't look,” Amy said, as two trucks passed each other with a hair's breath to spare on each side. “This is insane. This is insane,” she murmured.

“Imagine driving down this road in the dark,” Jake said.

“Please, you're giving me a heart attack.”

Climbing up the road were trucks full of oranges with additional passengers sitting on top of the cargo, who took delight in pelting the mountain bikers with oranges in passing.

“What the fuck is wrong with these people?” Jake wondered, as he narrowly avoided a fruity projectile.

“They're just offering us refreshments,” Amy argued.

“You know, this is like a real-life video game,” Jake reflected. “Dodging oranges and not falling to your death.”

“Real life, and real death.”

The many crosses and memorial plaques they passed could attest to that. They had just cycled underneath a waterfall crossing the road when they heard a familiar accent.

“Hi Americans!”

They looked behind them. None other than Harm Akkermans was coming up to cycle alongside them.

“Isn't this great?” he asked. “Look at those mountains. We don't have any mountains in The Netherlands, haha! It's so flat.”

“Very sad,” Jake commented dryly.

“Flat as a pancake!” he continued. “We love pancakes. Dutch pancakes are amazing. We also have small pancakes, do you know what they're called?”

“No. Actually we were...uhm....having a private conversation,” Jake said.

Amy nodded. “Very private, and very sensitive.”

“We were just breaking up,” Jake disclosed. “Amicably, of course.”

“Very amicably,” Amy agreed. “But we need to establish custody over our goldfish.”

“Poor Bubbles,” Jake sighed. “How will we tell him?”

“Bubbles is a girl!”

“See, we can't agree on anything. So we have a lot to discuss,” Jake said pointedly.

“Oh okay,” Harm said. “Well, good luck. Anyway, Judith says I talk too much, haha! So, bye Americans!” He changed gears and left them behind.

“If I gave him a little push, would that be a crime?” Jake wondered.

“Send him flying? Self defense, arguably. But he will haunt you to the ends of the earth.”

“Okay, never mind then. Bloody Dutch,” Jake muttered under his breath. “And they really suck at Eurovision.”

“Huh, what?” Amy asked, as she steered around a giant pothole while trying to avoid oncoming traffic.

“The Eurovision Song Contest,” he explained, “That's when European countries, and Israel, scream at each other to win a prize that nobody wants. We do it every year, it's super fun.”

“Right...”

“The costumes are amazing. Last time we won with a transvestite dressed as a parrot.”

“You're just making this up!”

“No!” Jake protested. “She's my friend Ariel's sister's next door neighbor's second cousin.”

Amy frowned. “And Ariel is your imaginary friend from under the sea?”

“What? No, Ariel is a guy's name. And he doesn't have a tail. Although he does have a gecko, and his tail fell off once. But I think he threw it out.”

They made sure to keep their eyes firmly on the Death Road while chatting away as they continued their descent. The barren landscape of the Andes slowly morphed into a humid subtropical jungle, and the temperature increased accordingly. At each snack break they shed more clothes and left them in the minibus. As the road widened and the amount of crosses decreased Amy started to enjoy herself more and more. She excitedly pointed to beautiful orchids and butterflies and colorful macaws along the way. Finally they reached the river at the bottom of the valley, the lowest point of the road.

Amy got off her bike and sighed. “Wow, we're still alive.”

“We made it!” Jake said, and they high fived.

“My brothers were right, it's a piece of cake.”

At the bridge they all got in the minibus and drove the last bit up to Coroico. They were dropped off at the guest house where they would spend the night before returning to La Paz the next morning. Surprisingly the rooms were neat, clean, and had good showers, because it was run like clockwork by a friendly Swiss couple. Amy was admiring the view over the Yungas from her balcony when she heard an embarrassed cough behind her. She turned around.

“Uhm, I think this is my room?” Jake said, clutching his backpack.

“What? No, this is my room!”


	3. Chapter 3

“But, look...” Jake showed her his room key.

Amy sighed. “That's a 6, not a 9.”

“Oh sorry,” he said, and made to leave. “Hey, do you want to go into Coroico later?”

“Sure.”

They explored the charming little village together and grabbed some food, trying their best to keep out of Harm's way, lest he bore them again with the etymology of coleslaw or some other stupid Dutch word.

They did run into Devvers at the local bar. “There's only two good states to be in,” he confided in them, “Queensland and pissed!” He was definitely in one of them.

Because the fear of death had caused a bit of tension in her shoulders that day Amy had booked a massage at a holistic retreat run by a pair of old hippies. Despite a whole bunch of 'crystal energy' nonsense she was well satisfied with the result and tipped accordingly. Later that evening she was lounging on a softly cushioned deck chair in the lush tropical garden of the guest house with a book. She felt utterly relaxed and luxurious sipping on a super fancy cocktail with a pink umbrella - because everything was unbelievably cheap in the poorest country of South America. Birds were chirping and cicadas were singing in perfect harmony when Jake walked by.

“Hey Amy,” he said, “Did you know 'dollar' comes from the Dutch word _daalder_?”

“Shut up!” She tried to smack him with her book but he grabbed it from her hand.

“It's just a harmless fact,” he protested. Then he looked at the book in his hand. “_Lost City of the Incas_ by Hiram Bingham. Stupid name. Sounds boring.” He checked the back cover. “This is the stuff of dreams, as romantic as any in the anals of exploration.”

“Annals! Annals of exploration.”

“Oh right. Not as romantic though.”

Amy grabbed her book back. “If you want something to read, there's an English book exchange shelf next to the reception desk.”

“No thanks, I hate reading.”

Amy sighed. “Then go ask them if they have some finger paint.”

“I'm dyslexic, alright?”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

“Hah! Just kidding,” he said triumphantly. “I'm lysdexic.”

Amy shook her head and put her book away. “So how old were you when you left New York?”

Jake sat down opposite her. “Well, when I was seven my dad left us and my mom really struggled. Then her uncle offered her a better job in Tel Aviv, and my grandmother had always wanted to make aliyah, so we all went,” he explained.

“Make what?”

“Aliyah, that's going home, to Israel. It literally means moving up.”

“Ah, you have the high ground?”

“Yes. And we'll hold it to the last man. Hey, do you want to hear a joke about aliyah?”

“Eh sure?”

“So back in old Soviet Russia,” Jake started, “a Jewish man goes to the authorities to request an exit visa. He says, 'I'd like to ask permission to emigrate to Israel with my wife and her parents.' And the Russian official goes, 'But why do you want to leave the most glorious Soviet Union, the best place on earth? I see here that you have an important job as a nuclear physicist. Aren't you happy?' And the man says, 'Yes, everything's fine for me I guess. But you see, my wife really wants to emigrate to Israel. It's her dearest wish.' The official goes, 'You're the man of the house, you must convince her to change her mind.' And the man says, 'But her parents also really want to go. They have a burning desire to emigrate to Israel.' The official says, 'Well why can't they go, and you stay behind to do your job?” And the man replies, 'But I'm the only one who's Jewish!'”

Amy started laughing. “Good one.”

“Yeah, we don't have many jokes but this one's alright.”

“Oh come on, tell me another one.”

They spent the rest of the evening laughing and joking on the terrace, Hiram Bingham's fascinating explorations all but forgotten. The next morning they drove back to La Paz in the minibus, an experience equally as hair-raising as the descent. Coming down from the pass they enjoyed a great view over the city. La Paz was spectacularly situated in a deep valley on the Altiplano, with magnificent views of the snow-capped, triple peaked Illimani in the distance. At twelve thousand feet above sea level it was literally breathtaking. As they got closer to the city center the roads became more steep, narrow and crowded, with all sorts of vehicles loudly honking their horns.

Jake and Amy had discovered they both wanted to see the new Lord of the Rings movie so they decided to meet up at Plaza Murillo in the afternoon. From there they set off for the cinema. The busy streets were lined with women selling the finest oranges from Coroico, poncho'd buskers with pan flutes all playing the same tune, and Dickensian street urchins begging passing tourists for pens and paper. Amy could not resist the temptation and supplied a whole army of eager scholars with colorful stationary from a nearby street vendor. 

“I just love buying school supplies,” she said, embarrassed by the state of the world.

Jake silently handed her some money to buy a bit more. Then they browsed a couple of souvenir shops, and politely declined the opportunity to have their fortunes read with coca leaves or llama fetuses. Instead they stopped by the covered market for a fresh fruit smoothie.

“Here,” Amy said, “I made sure she used orange juice instead of water, so it's safe to drink.”

He was touched by her concern for his bowels. “Thanks, that's my favorite kind of juice,” he said gratefully. “Right after pineapple and Ashkenazi.”

They quickly passed the butchers' section, where meat was lying unrefrigerated and out in the open on the counter, as the stench was unbearable. So they hurried along the bustling streets of La Paz sipping their drinks.

“Oh look, typewriters! I love typewriters.” Amy pointed to a row of people sitting behind small tables in a street full of government buildings. “Hmm, that's a vintage Remington.” She had a little chat with the toothless woman behind the machine. “They get paid to write letters for people,” she answered Jake's unspoken question. “Oh, did you manage to find an internet café?”

He grinned. “Yep, told them all about my heroic descent of the world's most dangerous road. I hope they're all super jealous in boring India, with the world's most dangerous diarrhea. And Ben, I hope his plane crashed in the Andes and he gets eaten first.”

As they reached a crossroads they suddenly halted. A big demonstration was blocking the whole street in front of them. 

“Not another one!” Jake exclaimed.

Men, women and children were marching and singing, carrying flags and large banners. Most of the women wore the traditional Andean costume; voluminous skirts, fringed shawls and black bowler hats. On their backs they had dark braids, and many carried babies in colorful woven cloths.

“Yes, their ill-timed political protests are terribly in our way,” Amy said dryly.

“Oh look, here comes the riot police,” Jake observed. Military Policemen with large shields and batons poured out of heavily armored vehicles and started beating the hell out of the demonstrators, and throwing tear gas into the crowd.

“Let's go the other way,” Jake suggested, dragging Amy along. They ran until they reached a quiet little square, and slowed down to a normal pace. “What's these protests about anyway?” Jake wondered.

“Gas,” Amy said, slightly out of breath.

“Gas?”

“They're protesting against the government for letting foreign companies extract Bolivian gas.”

“So what do they want? Keep it in the ground?”

“No, nationalize it and keep the profits here, for the benefit of the people.”

“How do you know all this stuff?”

“It's all they talk about on the radio,” Amy replied. “And I always have a chat with the taxi drivers.”

They managed to reach the cinema via a short detour and made it to Middle Earth on time. Afterwards they went for a drink in the Irish pub, which looked like any other Irish pub anywhere in the world and was therefore comfortingly familiar to the intrepid traveler. After discussing the Lord of the Rings movie in great detail Amy tried to interest Jake in the Harry Potter series, and he politely listened to her rave about the latest book. “I can't wait to find out how it ends!” she sighed. “Oh, I got my photos developed. Do you want to see them?”

He nodded with a mouth full of peanuts, and she showed him her pictures of Cuzco and Machu Picchu, which he'd visited exactly one week after her, the Islands of the Sun and the Moon in Lake Titicaca, Copacabana (not the Brazilian beach immortalized by Grammy Award-winning singer-songwriter Barry Manilow, obviously, but the charming Bolivian lakeside town of the same name) and the archeological site of Tiwanaku, all places he hadn't been to. After laughing at some silly pictures Jake had taken of her in Coroico Amy put the photos back in her bag. “So I think I'm going to get out of La Paz.”

Jake put down his bottle of Paceña. “Yes, it's getting a bit hot in here.”

“The rest of the country is fine though,” she assured him. “It's just, the government's here. So what were you planning to do next, originally?”

“Me and Ben? The salt flats, I think. Uyuri or something.”

“Uyuni, right. Yes, I heard that's cool. They've got a hotel made out of salt, apparently. Maybe I'll go there on my way to Chile later.”

“So where are you going next?” Jake asked.

“Well I was thinking of the lowlands.”

“Oh yeah, I heard they have great pancakes. And small pancakes.”

“What? No! The _Bolivian_ lowlands. To Santa Cruz, and then on to Samaipata.”

“Samaipata? What's there?”

“Oh, a pre-Inca hill fortress, a nice waterfall I think in a National Park, and it's supposed to be a really chill place.”

Jake grabbed his Lonely Planet and started reading up on the village. “Oh cool,” he said, “You can start a trail there to where Che Guevara got shot. Yeah, sounds like a fun place,” he cheerfully concluded.

“So do you want to come along?” Amy asked.

“Yeah, I guess so, if you don't mind?”

“No, I think it will be fun. We're a good team, right?”

“Yeah, definitely, we have fun together. And then I'll just fly to Buenos Aires from Santa Cruz instead.”

Amy nodded. “And I'll go west to Sucre and Potosí afterwards.”


	4. Chapter 4

“ORURORURORURORURORURORURORURO!”

“What is that guy on about?” Jake asked, pushing through the masses of people at the crowded bus station early in the morning.

“He's selling tickets for the bus to Oruro,” Amy clarified. “But we need to go to Santa Cruz.” She soon found a man who was shouting “SANTACRUSANTACRUSANTACRU!” at the top of his lungs and bought two tickets.

They waded through the throngs of people and boarded the correct bus. Jake sighed. “I'd never manage without you. This place is crazy.” 

“Yeah, what was your friend thinking, leaving your stranded like that,” Amy wondered as they found a seat next to a cage with live chickens.

“Oh I know what he was thinking,” Jake replied. “I hope she gives him crabs. She was a right slag.”

Amy snorted and put her backpack down between her feet. Jake did the same and grabbed his Lonely Planet from the top compartment. “So about ten hours to Santa Cruz,” he said, after consulting the oracle.

Amy shook her head. “No, the Chapare bridge has collapsed so we need to take the old road. That'll add an extra two hours or so.”

“What? A bridge just collapsed?”

“Yeah, in the flooding with the heavy rains. It was all over the news. Over fifty people died, including a whole bus. Also some drivers ignored the men who were trying to warn them with stop signs and drove straight into the abyss in the dark because they thought it was a set-up and they would get robbed if they stopped the car.”

“That's insane. Fuck this country.”

After leaving the sprawling city of La Paz behind they said goodbye to the Illimani and the other towering peaks of the Cordillera Real. At each village they stopped along the way the bus was instantly surrounded by women and children selling food and drinks through the open windows. They loudly advertised their wares, and Jake found himself tempted to buy some lurid green soda in a small plastic bag with a straw from a little boy with red apple cheeks and a mischievous grin. Amy bought an orange with a hole in it to suck on and two salteñas. “Do you want one?” she asked, showing him the pastry.

“Eh, what's in it?

“This one, peas and potatoes. I don't trust the meat ones.”

“Smort. Yeah, I'll try one.” He took a bite and hummed approvingly. “Salteñasalteñasalteña!” he enthusiastically imitated their purveyor.

“Salteñasalteñasalteñasalteña,” Amy replied.

“Salteñasalteñasalteñasalteñasalteña.”

That kept them busy for a while. After a relatively smooth ride to Cochabamba they turned onto the old road to Santa Cruz, which was significantly poorer in quality and very crowded because of the bridge collapse. They drove through small villages and dense rainforest. Right in the middle of nowhere the bus stopped at a road block, and soldiers with automatic rifles and sniffer dogs surrounded the vehicle.

Jake looked out of the window. “Why is there a military checkpoint here? We're in the middle of the country. What are they looking for, explosives? I'm on holiday, for fuck's sake!” He started tapping his finger in an unconscious gesture.

Amy shook her head. “No, not explosives I think. But we're in the Chapare region, this is where they grow all the coca leaves.”

“Ah, and not the ones for making tea, I guess?”

“Both. I mean, if you've got mouths to feed...”

The soldiers boarded the bus, and began checking papers. Jake and Amy grabbed their passports for inspection. He frowned at Jake's, but had a long conversation in Spanish with Amy, and handed it back with a smile.

“What did he want?” Jake whispered after he'd moved further down the bus.

“Oh nothing,” Amy said. “Just asked me where my family was from, and then he started praising his disabled son's Cuban pediatrician.”

“Huh, lucky coincidence.”

“Not really, I get that a lot. There's loads of doctors from Cuba here.”

“Really? Why's that? Did they all run away?”

She shook her head. “No, Uncle Fidel sends them.”

“Uncle Fidel? What, are you a communist?”

“Hey, you're the one who wanted to walk in the footsteps of Che Guevara!”

Jake shrugged. “But he was like, a cool guy.”

Amy frowned. “You think he's just a cool guy on a t-shirt? You don't even know what he stands for?”

“He was killed in a gunfight with Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, right?”

“No! You've got your Bolivian shootouts mixed up.” Amy let out a deep sigh. “And just for the record, he was a Marxist revolutionary and I'm not. In fact, my family left Cuba because of Castro. But I understand why they see things differently here.”

“Yeah, I'm kinda starting to regret traveling on my American passport,” Jake said. “They're not too fond of the gringos, are they?”

“And who can blame them. Overthrowing democratically elected governments and installing brutal military dictatorships is not a great way to make friends.”

“Oh yeah, that good ol' American freedom, export quality.”

“Hey, like you've been throwing a lot of freedom at the Palestinians.”

“Let's not go there, okay?”

“Why not? I'm not anti-Israel, I just think there's two sides to the story.”

“Look, we just want a place of our own, where we can walk down the street without getting spat at. Is that too much to ask?”

“But at the expense of whom? At what cost?”

“I'd pay any price.”

She sighed. “You're completely missing the point.”

“Well I don't expect you to understand.”

“Okay, let's just agree to disagree.”

“No, please continue,” Jake urged. “I think it's hot.”

“What?” 

Then they both started laughing.

“Let's call a truce,” Jake proposed.

“Alright.” 

They shook hands.

“Hey,” Jake said, “I just want you to know that I'm not one of those fanatics. I do...question things. I just got a bit defensive, you know.”

“Alright, and I maybe I don't really know enough about it to have a completely nuanced and informed opinion,” Amy conceded.

“Did we just win the Nobel Peace Prize?”

The soldiers had left the bus, and they started moving again. A light drizzle soon turned into a heavy rainstorm, until they could barely see out of the window. The bus driver kept honking his horn and shouting as he tried to overtake other vehicles going at a snail's pace. When an equally reckless driver coming towards them drove into the opposing lane to overtake he was forced into the soft shoulder to avoid a collision. The right wheels sank deep into the mud, and the bus slowly came to a halt. The driver started swearing and cursing and shaking his fist, but the culprit was long gone. After uselessly revving the engine a few times he ordered everyone off the bus. Amy and Jake zipped up their jackets and grabbed their backpacks. It was still pouring with rain outside.

“Here, hold this,” Jake said, and gave her his backpack. He went to the back of the bus and started pushing with the other men, while the women stood around and gave directions. Some of them had already given up hope and wandered off or flagged down a friendly ride. One woman sat down resignedly by the side of the road and covered herself, her three children and her cage of chickens with a plastic tarp. Despite the men's best efforts the bus was not moving an inch, and in the end they had to give up.

“The bus driver said we have to wait for a tow truck from Cochabamba,” Amy informed Jake. “That'll take at least an hour. But he won't let us back on the bus, he says it will sink even deeper.” 

Somehow that logic didn't apply to himself, as the driver locked himself inside the bus and started eating a salteña. The remainder of the men who had been pushing the bus jumped on the back of a passing truck and climbed on top of the cargo.

“Okay, let's just find some place to shelter, and get back here in about an hour, alright?” Amy suggested. “Or we'll get completely soaked.”

Jake nodded, and they set off along the road in the pouring rain.

“Maybe that'll lead to a village,” Amy said, pointing to a muddy side road. At least the forest canopy would provide some protection from the elements. They hurried down the winding little lane, careful to avoid the biggest puddles of mud.

“I don't think this is going anywhere,” Jake said at last, “And it's almost stopped raining. Let's turn around.”

Amy stopped and scanned the surroundings. “Oh look, a little airplane!” she said, pointing to the sky. “They must have a great view from there.”

“Yeah, let's get back to the road,” Jake urged. “Before we get kidnapped by a drug lord or something.”

“¡Alto!”


	5. Chapter 5

Before them stood a member of the Military Police holding an automatic rifle. He asked for their papers, and they both handed over their passports. He glanced at them and then put them in the front pocket of his uniform jacket.

“He says we shouldn't be here,” Amy translated, “It's a restricted area.”

“Alright, thanks for the info, can we go now?”

Amy sighed. “We have to pay a fine.”

“Okay,” Jake sighed. “How much?”

“He wants dollars. Do you have any dollars?” she asked as she counted the banknotes in her money belt. “I don't have enough.”

“No, I only have shekels.”

“That's not going to work. Bolivianos?”

“Just twenty,” he said, handing them to her. “I was going to find an ATM in Santa Cruz.”

Amy tried to convince him that was all they had. “He wants your watch,” she told Jake at last.

“What?” he exclaimed. “You know, this isn't right. Tell him to take us to his commanding officer.”

“No!” Amy objected. “The more people get involved the more expensive it gets. We should get this over and done with as soon as possible, before anyone else shows up who wants a cut. Just give him your watch, please? Pretend it's a gift. Be nice.”

Jake took off his watch, smiling through his teeth, and gave it to the soldier, who grinned and loudly admired it. He put it on his wrist and twisted it around, content as a child.

“Can we get our passports back now?” Jake asked impatiently.

“I'm trying, okay?” Amy said, and continued to talk in the sweetest tone. At last she turned to Jake, “He says he's keeping them cause it's evidence or something.”

“This is ridiculous,” Jake replied with a fake smile. He turned to the soldier. “Galil?” he asked, pointing to his rifle. He looked surprised, and then started smiling with a toothy grin. He lifted his rifle to show him, and Jake stepped closer to admire it. He lifted his hands to inspect the weapon, then grabbed it tightly with both hands and head-butted the soldier. After quickly unclipping the shoulder strap Jake hit him on the side of the head with the butt of the rifle. He fell backwards on the ground, and Jake pointed the rifle at him. “Give me the watch, and the money back.”

He was lying on the ground with his hands over his head, moaning loudly. Amy repeated the request, also remembering the passports. He handed everything to her while whimpering in pain. 

Jake nodded. “You messed with the wrong guy,” he said, and kicked him in the nuts. “Let's go,” he told Amy, and they ran back in the direction of the road.

They reached the road in record time, Jake dragging Amy along. “That way to Santa Cruz, right?”

Amy nodded, completely out of breath.

“Okay, we need to get out of here as soon as possible. Let's hitchhike.”

“I promised my mom I wouldn't!”

“Desperate times, desperate measures. Okay, this is your job. I'm going to hide behind that bush. Show some leg.”

“I'm wearing pants!” Amy objected, but she took off her backpack and loosened her ponytail. She put her best foot forward and elegantly raised her thumb. Soon enough an old, rusty car stopped with a big, moustachio'd man inside, who confirmed that yes, he was going all the way to Santa Cruz. Jake jumped out from behind the bush and did up the button on his pants. The man looked surprised, and then alarmed at the rifle hanging over his shoulder. He didn't say anything though and let them both climb into the dirty backseat of his car. The Virgin Mary swung wildly from the rear view mirror as he accelerated quickly, and they were on their way. Then he turned down the loud cumbia music and started talking to Amy.

“He wants to know why you have a gun.”

“To protect my girlfriend from big moustachio'd men.”

“This isn't funny, you know. He could report us to the police, and then we'll be in real trouble.”

“Then you have to make him like us. Make something up.”

She sighed. “Okay, but will you please unload the gun?”

“Alright.” He removed the magazine and checked the chamber.

“What on earth did you say to that guy, by the way?” Amy wondered. “What's 'gelil'?”

“This.” He pointed to the rifle. “This is a Galil.” He stuffed the magazine in his backpack. “Made in Israel.”

“Oh, okay. Well I hope you're proud.” Amy turned around and started a friendly chat with the driver. He nodded and smiled and nodded, and finally turned up the music again.

“So what did you tell him?” Jake whispered.

“I said I was a Catholic missionary, and I was working in an orphanage for the blind. I wanted to be a nun before I fell in love with you. You're a wildlife ranger who protects indigenous species from poachers.”

“Cool cool cool.”

“We're getting married next June.”

“Wow, that's quick!”

“I'm a good Catholic girl and I just can't wait.”

“That sounds like a great title for your sex tape,” he teased, wiggling his eyebrows at her. “Just out of curiosity, did you ever wear a school uniform?”

“Wouldn't you like to know.” Amy bit her lip. “Maybe I did,” she purred, stroking his thigh. “Maybe I still have it.”

“Not fair!” Jake said, and moved his backpack to his lap. He disassembled the rifle quickly and methodically and stuffed the pieces in the main compartment between his clothes.

“Hey, that was really great though, what you did,” Amy said.

Jake closed his backpack and turned to her. “Sometimes you just have to stand up and take back what's yours.” 

As they reached the outskirts of Santa Cruz the driver shouted something to them over the music.

“He wants to know where to drop us off.”

“A cheap but clean hotel?” Jake suggested.

“No, we don't want him to know where we're staying. The central plaza then, I guess.” She grabbed her Lonely Planet from her backpack. “Plaza 24 de Septiembre?” she asked the driver, and he nodded.

After safely arriving at their destination Amy thanked him profusely and tried to offer him some gas money, but he kept declining. Finally she pulled a necklace out of her cleavage and kissed the pendant. Then she held up her hand to him and said some kind of blessing. He honked his horn and left.

They walked along the central plaza, where for a pittance little boys knelt down to shine the shoes of bored men reading newspapers, and then three blocks to the nearest alojamiento.

“So what is that necklace?” Jake asked curiously.

She showed it to him. “It's a Saint Christopher medal, the patron saint of travelers.”

“Aha! So you are a good Catholic girl.”

“Sorry to burst your bubble, but no, I just got it from my Catholic grandma before I left.”

“Ah okay. Hey, what does that mean?” he asked, pointing to a large, colorful mural with indigenous motifs.

“Poder al Pueblo, Power to the People,” Amy translated. “Most likely painted in support of Evo Morales, the socialist opposition leader. America hates his guts, so he'll probably be dead soon. Can't have him nationalizing all those valuable natural resources now, can we? What about all those poor American companies trying to make an honest buck. Gotta protect their interests against the bad, bad commies.”

Jake nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, I think I would also prefer doctors to assassins.”

“Or assault rifles.”

Jake halted. “Well, then somebody else would sell it to them!”

Amy shook her head. “Seriously? You should know better. Ah, here we are.” She snapped her Lonely Planet shut. “Let's hope they've got two rooms.”


	6. Chapter 6

“Plenty of rooms,” Amy said, dangling two sets of keys. “So I asked for two quiet ones at the back.”

“Great,” Jake said, and followed her into the little courtyard, where they found their adjacent rooms as well as the communal bathroom. “I hope the showers are a bit decent. So do you want this one, or the other one?” he asked, peering through the window.

“No, this one's fine,” Amy said, opening the door and throwing her backpack on the bed. “Hey, do you have any snacks? I'm starving all of a sudden.”

“Sure, I think I have some nuts somewhere.” He put his backpack on the floor and dug in deep until he found a bag of cashews. “Oh and some dates as well.” They sat down on the bed and shared the bounty.

“Mmm, this date is amazing,” Amy said, licking her fingers clean.

“Glad you like it. Just let me know any time you want a taste of Israel,” he generously offered.

She took him at his word and had another sweet, sticky Medjoul date. Then she took off her jacket and grabbed the wet hem of her t-shirt. “Ugh, I'm soaked.”

Jake nodded. “Yes, I have that effect on women.”

“Oh, did you get a lot of action in the army?” She wiggled her eyebrows in disbelief.

Jake cleared his throat. “Well fortunately women are also drafted, so the IDF is full of hot, fit girls in uniform.”

She turned to him. “Okay, that's great, but you didn't answer my question,” she teased.

He kept looking straight ahead and felt a flush creep up his collar. “No, I didn't. Not really,” he said at last (wanking off to Natalie Portman didn't count, obviously). He had no idea what possessed him to be so honest with her. He could have spouted any lie. Would she laugh at him, or think less of him now? He was afraid to look in her direction.

“Well, you know, Art History isn't really a good place to pick up guys,” Amy said hesitantly.

He turned to her and smiled. “And you were also hoping to remedy that with a hot Latin lover?”

She shrugged. “I guess so. I wouldn't mind,” she said shyly.

“Well I'm afraid you're stuck with me,” he joked.

“I mean, that would be okay?”

“If we...?” he said hesitantly.

“Yes, why not,” she said, suddenly determined. “Unless you...?”

“No, I'm...I mean, I'm game.” He took a deep breath. “Just so we're on the same page here, you're proposing we get rid of our pesky virginities together?”

She smiled. “Uhm, yes. Like, as friends? You know, keep it light and breezy.”

“Sure,” he replied. “I can do light and breezy.”

“So, ehm, we will need a condom?” Amy said, slightly red faced.

“No problem,” Jake replied. He dug into his backpack and grabbed a small ziplock bag full of prophylactics.

“Wow, you're very...eh optimistic,” Amy commented.

He shrugged. “I had a whole bunch left. I used a lot of condoms in the army.”

“Oh?”

“To keep the sand out of my rifle.”

She let out a surprised giggle. He liked making her laugh. “So, did you want to get out of those wet clothes?” he asked, and as he said it he realized it sounded like the worst pick-up line ever.

But she smiled and said “Ehm yes,” while biting her lip and looking down. She slowly lifted the hem of her t-shirt. He watched, mesmerized, as she pulled the fabric over her head.

“It's uhm, just a sports bra,” she said awkwardly.

He swallowed hard. “It's great. You look great. You're great.” He should probably stop talking, he sounded so lame. She licked her lips and he leaned over to kiss her. Of course he'd kissed a girl before. Once. But this felt so much better. Her lips were so soft, and her breathy little moan went straight to his dick. He really couldn't believe his luck. In all the fantasies he'd had of seducing hot Latina women he'd always purposely overlooked the inconvenient little fact that he didn't speak any Spanish. If he was honest he'd never actually expected it to happen. And now here she was, really cute and conveniently American. He supposed it could have started a bit more passionately than 'yeah whatever', but who was he to complain? After she broke the kiss he took off his shirt because it only seemed fair. And he wanted her to touch him.

“Is this okay?” Amy asked, shyly moving her hand lower.

“Yeah. That's...yeah that's great.”

“It's just...I don't know...”

“It's fine, I...Oh...”

“Yes?”

“Hmmmm, oh yes. Please...This...Oh...”

“Sorry, I have no idea what I'm doing.”

“Just, like this. Yes. Can I...? Is this okay?”

“Yes, yes. Just...wait a second. I'm...”

“You're gorgeous.”

“Thanks, I...”

“I like your hair loose. It's nice. Why are you folding up your pants?”

“Don't criticize me!”

“Okay sorry, I was just wondering. I really don't care what you do with your pants.”

“Shall I put them back on then?”

“No!”

“Alright.”

“Come here.”

“Mmmmm. Do that again.”

“What, this?”

“Yeah.”

“You're so hot.”

“You're pretty hot too.”

“Yeah, I'm boiling.”

“Oh, that's...good. Mmmm.”

“So do you want...”

“Yeah, I guess...”

“Wait, just a sec. Where...? Oh there. It's...Ugh.”

“Do you need a hand?”

“No, I...I'm...”

“Like this?”

“I guess. I just...Oh!”

“Is...?”

“Yeah. Is that...okay?”

“Yes, I...Mmmm. Oh. Oh, my. Oh.”

“You're...Oh. So. I...Oh fuck!”

“Just...my leg?”

“Oh sorry. Was that, uhm, okay?”

“Yeah, it was...fine.”


	7. Chapter 7

The next morning they took a collective taxi to Samaipata. They didn't mention last night's events, and Jake wasn't sure if and how and why he should bring it up. Probably not in the backseat of a car, squashed between a nursing mother and a toothless old man anyway.

Amy was going over the list of accommodation options. “So do you think it would be a good idea if we shared a room?” she proposed in the blandest way possible. “To save some money.”

“Eh yeah, that would be good,” he replied dispassionately.

“Unless you snore?”

“No, I don't snore. Trust me, I would have heard about it by now if I did.”

They could afford to splurge a bit so they got an extra nice cabaña with a private bathroom.

“First things first,” Jake said, and pulled all his clothes out of his backpack and threw them on the bed. They hiked to a remote location, and after wiping his prints off the rifle parts he threw them all in a ravine at different places. “My friend Ariel's older brother said he beat up two armed robbers in São Paulo. Now I have a cool story too.”

Amy nodded. “Poor unfortunate souls.”

“Yeah, mazel tov, bitch.”

Amy frowned. “Hey, what if they're out there looking for us? I mean, we have to cross the border at some point.”

“Do you really think that guy would admit to his superiors that an American backpacker stole his rifle? Imagine the ridicule. No, he'll make up some bullshit story that he lost it, he'll get disciplined, and that'll be the end of it.”

“I hope you're right.” She pointed at two condors flying across the ravine. “Look!”

He nodded. “And he won't even remember our names, he barely looked at the page.”

That night Jake crawled into bed after taking a long hot shower and they lay next to each other awkwardly. Is this what it's like to be married? he wondered. He started questioning again why Amy had suggested sharing a room. Maybe she was just short of cash? He took a deep breath. “So, uhm, do you want to do anything?”

Amy looked away, blushing. “Uhm yeah maybe, something else?”

“Okay, sure, what?”

“Eh, I don't know.”

He guessed she meant oral sex, and he was correct. In the following days they did everything in Samaipata that the Lonely Planet told them to. Although Jake's edition was more recent, Amy's had the added benefit of her brothers' hand-written annotations (like the very pithy 'shits' review of a certain restaurant). All in all they complemented each other well, and they had a marvelous time. After that decided to travel on to Sucre and Potosí together. You know, as friends. Who occasionally had sex. No big deal.

In Potosí they visited the Cerro Rico mine, once the world's largest silver deposit. It was said they could have built a bridge to Madrid made of pure silver with its riches, and still have plenty of ore left to carry across. Now the mountain's vast complex of tunnels was being mined for the last scraps of less precious metals. On a hard hat tour of the dark underground they learned that a nice bunch of dynamite is a gift for every occasion. “Cool.” They also learned that children as young as twelve were working ten-hour shifts breaking rocks with pickaxes down the mine. “Not cool.”

That evening Amy huddled close to Jake. “Maybe I should go work in an orphanage for the blind,” she said, “Although I would be terrible at it. And what good is putting band aids on orphans anyway, except for making you feel virtuous? This country is poor because other people keep stealing their stuff. Like a whole mountain full of silver, and now all this natural gas. They could've been richer than Norway. Do little Norwegians shine shoes, work on oil rigs, and beg for pens to do their homework, or are they rolling around in that sweet oil money all day, when they're not busy skiing? If that's not worth fighting for, then what is? No wonder they're taking to the streets and burning American flags. It's so frustrating, but I just want to do something, you know. Even if it's only a drop in the bucket. There's so much poverty and injustice here. I just want to help people, be useful. Make a difference.”

Jake sighed. “Yeah, I feel the same kind of. Nobody can afford to look away from injustice. We all know what happens then.” He absently played with her hair. “Hey, I know you'll find a way. Maybe not here, maybe not with blind orphans, but you'll do something great.”

“And what about you?” she asked.

“I just want to do the right thing, make the right choices. Do my duty.”

“I'm sure you will.”

During the day they were just friends. No hand holding, no kissing, no schmaltzy stuff. Just travel companions, as they told anyone who made the mistake of assuming they were a couple. But at night they tried everything under the sun, including a guest appearance by Queen Padmé Amidala. Jake also tried to teach Amy some krav maga moves at her request but those attempts all ended in a similar fashion. In the morning she counted her bruises and smiled, and Jake felt obliged to kiss it better. So by the time they got to Buenos Aires (“I might as well go to Santiago from there”) they were quite good at it, stupid good actually. They went to see the Boca Juniors play at La Bombonera stadium and he only had to explain the offside rule once. Perhaps it was a good thing his trip was coming to an end, Jake thought, because he believed he might be in some danger of falling in love.

“I wish you could stay a bit longer,” Amy said, as they were lying in bed, exhausted after dancing the tango all night, followed by the horizontal tango.

“Yeah, but I've almost run out of money.” He yawned. “And condoms.” He could feel her smile against his skin as she lay across his chest. “But seriously, I also have to go to Ariel and Rivkah's wedding.”

She sighed.

“He's a good friend. Not the kind to ditch you in La Paz.”

“Did you hear anything from Ben?”

“Nope. I hope a Galapagos tortoise ate him.”

“I think they're vegetarians.”

“Okay, then a beagle ripped him apart.”

“A beagle?”

“Yeah a Galapagos beagle, with rabies.”

“Okay, Darwin's rabid ghost ship ate your friend.”

“Former friend.”

Amy slowly turned to Jake. “So do you think we'll see each other again?”

“Well...I don't know.”

“I mean, it's not just light and breezy, is it? I'm not imagining things, you feel it too, right?” Amy said, regarding him closely. “I'm not crazy, am I? Say something!”

“I just...I don't know. I wanted it to be light and breezy. And maybe I'm starting to feel something, but, it's just, we're from completely different worlds.”

“You're an American!”

“I'm not an American, okay? 'Jake Peralta' doesn't exist. And it could never work between us. It's just not meant to be.”

“Why? How can you be so sure?”

He took a deep breath. “Because you're not Jewish, alright?”

“Wow, that's...what? Are you a racist?”

“No! Look, it's just that...it can't work out between us in the long run. I have to marry a Jewish girl because I want to have Jewish children.”

“But you told me your dad wasn't! Why can't your children be Jewish then, if you are?”

“Because it's the female line that matters most. I'm Jewish because my mother is, and her mother, and her mother before her. That's just the way it is. But they need good, Jewish husbands.”

“So that's the only reason? That you want to have Jewish children with a Jewish girl?”

“Yes, and that's not just one reason,” Jake said. “I have six million reasons.”

Amy was silent.

“That's what happens when people look away from injustice.”


	8. Chapter 8

_Ten years later..._

“He was a dentist!” Amy told Rosa. “And he started checking my teeth in the middle of dinner, and then he told me I couldn't have dessert.”

“That sucks.”

“Diaz and Santiago, are you close to 34th?” the dispatcher asked over the radio.

“Yes, we're on 37th and Foster,” Amy responded.

“Please respond to a robbery in progress at Mo's Deli. One armed assailant, copy?”

“Copy that.” She turned to Rosa. “Let's go.”

Just before they reached the deli they got another message. “Diaz and Santiago, hold your fire! We have reports of a...citizen's arrest?” the dispatcher said hesitantly. “I repeat, hold your fire. Proceed with caution.”

“Copy,” Amy responded. She looked at Rosa and shrugged. They had reached the corner of the shop and carefully peered through the window. A man was lying on the floor, and another one was grabbing his hands behind his back while holding him down.

She nodded to Rosa and they entered the store. “NYPD, freeze!”

The second man looked up slowly. “Amy?” he asked incredulously.

Her mouth fell open. “Jake?” she asked. “Is that you?”

He nodded. “Yes, but you...I mean...”

Rosa frowned. “You two know each other?”

Jake smiled and nodded. “Yes, we met on the most dangerous road in the world.”

“Okay, cool.”

“And it's all been downhill from there,” Amy said. She meant it as a joke but it came out more bitter than she expected.

“Okay,” Rosa said, “Can you guys play catch up later? I hate small talk. Now what happened here?”

Jake shook his head. “Oh right, he was robbing the store, waving his gun around. I thought that wasn't safe. Probably on something? Anyway, not all there I think.” The perp gurgled in response. Jake handed over a Glock and a bowie knife. “So I took his gun away and made a citizen's arrest.”

Amy nodded approvingly. “Still know your krav maga then?”

He smiled. “Yeah, actually I'm a police officer in Tel Aviv.”

Rosa frowned. “Can you make a citizen's arrest if you're not a citizen?”

“I'm an American citizen.” “He's an American citizen,” Amy and Jake said simultaneously.

“Okay fine,” she said, and bent down to handcuff the perp. Jake let go of him while Rosa pulled him up. She started reading him his rights, and Amy recorded Jake's testimony. She had just finished interviewing the store owner when a woman with wavy brown hair barreled in and threw herself at Jake.

“Gina!” he exclaimed.

“Jake! Honey! So glad to see you!” she said, squeezing him tightly. Amy felt a sudden, inexplicable pang of regret.

“I'm so glad you're late,” Jake remarked. “Bit of a kerfuffle.”

Gina looked around, as if only just now noticing she was in the middle of a crime scene. “Yeah, what happened here?”

“Armed robbery, took care of it.”

Gina nodded. “So do we get free bagels?” she asked the store owner.

“We're done here,” Rosa announced. “Let's go.”

“Yeah okay,” Amy said regretfully. “Bye then. And thanks for helping out.”

“No problem. Hey, do you maybe want to get a drink later?” Jake asked. “Catch up?”

“Eh, I don't know,” she said, looking over at Gina.

“He's single, girlfriend,” Gina responded in a sing-song voice. She pinched his cheek. “And we're like brother and sister.”

“Eh okay, yeah I'd like that,” she told Jake. “Catching up.”

“Alright, well, you have my number.”

Rosa turned the perp around and led him to the door. When passing Jake he suddenly spat in his face, as if he'd been waiting for the right moment. “Fuck you, you fucking kike!”

Jake wiped the spit from his cheek. “Ah, New York. It's good to be back.”

“So what brings you here?” Amy asked him over a beer. 

Jake told her that he'd gone to see his father in Quebec. “And then he bailed on me, and I had some time left, so I called my old friend Gina and flew to New York.”

Amy smiled. “She looks fun.”

“Yeah, she's great. Hey, weird question, but she kinda asked me to help her look for a job, and of course I don't really know anyone else here. Would you happen to know anything?”

“Eh, maybe at the precinct? I think we have an opening for civilian admin at the moment. It's the 99.”

“Okay, thanks, I'll pass it on. So you're a police officer now? But I thought you were studying Art History?”

Amy shrugged. “It comes in handy sometimes. I spotted a fake Ming vase the other day!”

“Cool cool cool. You know, we never even talked about it, and we both became police officers. Isn't that strange?”

Amy felt an old, familiar warm glow on her cheeks. “I know.” She looked down at her glass. “So Gina mentioned you're not married?” she asked curiously.

“Actually I'm divorced.” He sighed. “I got married too young and for the wrong reasons.”

Amy nodded sympathetically.

Jake drained his glass and stared at the bottom. “The thing is, she had trouble conceiving, and it put a lot of strain on our relationship. And it made me realize a few things, that maybe I was wrong about what marriage is all about. So in the end we got divorced. She's married to someone else now, and she has a little boy. It's all for the best.”

Amy put her hand on his. “I'm really sorry.”

He looked up at her. “You know, back when we met I thought I had the whole world figured out.”

“Don't we all, at that age?” She sighed. “I was such a judgmental know-it-all. I wonder you could stand me.”

He smiled. “You made some good points though. About Harry Potter, for starters.” He peeled at the label of his beer bottle. “I wanted to be a brave little soldier but I forgot what we were fighting for.” He looked at her. “So what about you? Did you find anyone?”

Amy shook her head. “Do you want to hear about this dentist?”

At the end of the night they agreed to go to Coney Island on Amy's next day off. There they spent a wonderful day at the ocean front, reliving old memories and making new ones. As they walked along the beach at sunset Jake turned to her. “Hey, did you know 'Coney' comes from the Dutch word for rabbit?”

“Shut up!” she said, fondly slapping his shoulder.

“Sorry, I meant no harm.” He smiled and kicked the sand. “You know, I'd love to go back there. See what President Evo Morales did with all that gas money.”

“Well they finished the new road to Coroico,” Amy said. “And lost that coveted title.”

Jake nodded. “It's a good thing extremely bad infrastructure is not their only tourist attraction.”

“Yeah, actually I read they're building a whole bunch of ski lifts as public transport in La Paz, to ease congestion. It looks amazing.”

“Perhaps one day their children will be skiing too.”

She nodded. "They've still got a long way to go, but at least they're on the right track now."

"You know, I only went to Bolivia because it's between Peru and Argentina, but it was the best part." Jake looked pensive. “Hmmm, I'd kill for a salteña right now.”

“Salteñasalteñasalteña,” Amy agreed.

“Oruroruroruro.”

She shook her head and smiled. “Nobody else gets it.”

“We had some crazy adventures, didn't we?”

“Yeah. Remember when you almost burned down that wooden cabaña in Samaipata with the Shabbat candles?”

He snorted. “Yes, that was a night to remember.”

“Quite,” she agreed, sighing at the recollection. “I don't think I've ever had a better date though.”

“Yes, Israeli dates are the best,” Jake agreed. Then he stopped and turned to her. “So. I...well I...uhm. Amy?”

“Yes?” She looked at him questioningly.

“I'm...” He swallowed hard. “I didn't want to leave without telling you this: I'm sorry about what I said to you in Buenos Aires. I was young and ignorant, I saw everything in black and white, and I regret it.”

“Hey, you don't have to apologize. I'll admit I was really hurt, but I understand your reasons now and I respect that. You were just trying to do the right thing.”

He shook his head. “The truth is, no one's ever made me feel the way you did. I didn't understand what love was and I let it slip away. I never found anyone like you and now I know I never will.”

“I...yes, I feel the same way,” Amy said. “I've missed you so much.”

They both stared at each other, frozen in time. Then Amy slowly leaned closer and kissed him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. It felt like home.

Amy took a deep breath. “And that's why I'm willing to convert, because I know it's important to you.”

“What?” he asked, astonished.

Amy took his hand. “Your people are my people.”

“I...No, I mean, but converting, that's really hard! You know, there's a reason people don't knock on your door asking you to become Jewish. It takes a long time and a lot of effort, and no matter how hard you try you'll always be an outsider.”

“I know, I did my research. I've been wandering for a long time. I know it's not an easy road to take, but we can do anything together, right? Even if I have to move halfway across the world, I'll do it, because I want to be with you more than anything.”

He softly squeezed her hand. “Okay, so you'll come to Tel Aviv, and you're going to meet my mother. I know she'll love you. But then we're going back to New York. I'll find a job here. See if the NYPD will have me.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you don't have to make all the sacrifices. I don't want you to leave your home, your job, your family and friends behind and go to a place where you'll never be really accepted. We can meet in the middle, right here.” He kissed her again. “I think I'm ready to come home.”


	9. Playlist

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.
> 
> \- Martin Luther King Jr., 1963  
  


Hi everyone, thanks for reading. I just wanted to share with you the playlist I made for this fic.

Please let me know if any of the video links are broken. Youtube does that sometimes.

  


**Píntame Bolivia – Duo Blanco y Negro  
** **The Long and Winding Road – The Beatles  
** **Gasolina – Daddy Yankee  
** **Talkin' bout a Revolution – Tracy Chapman  
** **Así Es Bolivia - Tupay  
** **On This Night of a Thousand Stars – Christopher Johnstone  
** **Twist in my Sobriety – Tanita Tikaram  
** **Comarapa – Kjarkas  
** **If You Tolerate This Your Children Will Be Next – Manic Street Preachers  
** **A Long Time Ago – Jim Croce  
**To Life! (L'Chaim) – Aelita Fitingof****

********

********

  


_I am Bolivia and her people_

_Lead me to your door_

_Be prepared that what's coming will be hard_

_Poor people are gonna rise up and take what's theirs_

_A new dawn is coming for my dear country_

_I never dreamed that a kiss could be as sweet as this_

_All God's children need traveling shoes_

_I'm proud of my beautiful land_

_If I can shoot rabbits then I can shoot fascists_

_You said that you would like to share my road_

_How much more can we be joyful?_

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
“I love you, fluffy alpaca.”
> 
> “I love you too, hot salteña.”  



End file.
